Chapter 9 - Curiosity

Curiosity

The village stirred with a quiet energy, a ripple of curiosity swelling beneath the hum of daily life. Whispers curled through the air like drifting smoke, slipping between merchants and customers alike.

"Did you hear about the hooded alchemist?"

"He sold patterned pills… spiritual ones. And cheap."

"Never seen him before. Think he's from another village?"

Even those who had not witnessed the sale firsthand spoke of it as though they had, each retelling embellishing the story further. By mid-morning, the mysterious pill-seller had become an unexpected sensation among the villagers—especially among the young cultivators, eager for anything that could sharpen their edge.

In a dimly lit stall tucked away in the market, Belar, the village's resident alchemist, drummed his fingers against the wooden counter, the rhythmic tapping betraying his unease. A man whose face bore the wear of both age and countless failed concoctions, he could not shake the memory of those pills.

Those patterns… those spiritual lines… They weren't the work of an amateur.

Muttering under his breath, he sifted through the known alchemists of the region, but no name fit the stranger's skill. Alchemy was a battle against precision. Too much heat, and the pill was ruined; too little, and its essence slipped away. He had fought against those margins for years, yet this nameless figure had mastered them with unnerving ease. The thought gnawed at him—was this an outsider testing the waters? A wandering alchemist from a hidden sect?

Fingers tapping faster, Belar scowled. No… there's something off about him.

Beyond the alchemist's stall, the speculation deepened. Kalia and Joran lingered near a weapons vendor, their hushed conversation slipping into suspicion.

"You think it could be De-Reece?" Kalia asked, arms folded tightly.

Joran scoffed, running a hand through his hair. "De-Reece? Please. He's a drifter with a half-starved pet. Alchemy like that? That's the work of someone trained. Probably from one of the bigger towns."

Lips pressed into a thin line, Kalia remained silent. A small doubt festered—something about De-Reece didn't sit right. His quiet watchfulness, the sharpness in his gaze, the way that beast of his, Solar, seemed almost too attuned to him.

Unbeknownst to them, Elder Faen, the village head, had caught wind of the growing whispers. A man of stern resolve, grizzled beard framing a weathered face, he listened as one of his attendants relayed the murmurs of the market.

"Spiritual pills? In this village?" he mused, brows knitting together. The presence of such refinement wasn't just unusual—it was dangerous. Such pills could push a cultivator at the peak of body tempering over the threshold into qi condensation. That transition… He remembered the struggle all too well.

"Keep an eye out," he ordered, voice steady but firm. "If he returns, I want to know—who he speaks to, what he buys or sells, everything. Someone with that skill doesn't simply appear without reason."

The web had begun to tighten.

Within the quiet confines of his room, De-Reece sat cross-legged, fingers tracing the smooth curve of a remaining healing pill. The previous night had yielded more than just coin—it had stirred the still waters of the village.

Selling in the cover of darkness, he had moved swiftly, the sales handled in hushed exchanges. Hood drawn low, voice barely a whisper, each pill disappeared into eager hands before he slipped away, barely a flicker in the night. The Shadow Phantom Steps made him a ghost, unseen, unnoticed.

By the time he had returned, the rich aroma of roasted spiritual beast meat had filled the air. With the extra coin, he had indulged—Solar, too. A rare feast, the flesh pulsing faintly with lingering qi. It wasn't just sustenance—it was fuel. Even as he ate, his mind churned. The energy from the beast's qi resonated within him, a pulse that teased the edges of his cultivation.

Five meridians opened.

Not enough.

He had listened, pieced together the local knowledge. Body tempering, then qi condensation, then core formation. But a contradiction lingered—nine meridians? That's what they believed. But De-Reece had always known twelve.

A misunderstanding? Or was this world simply blind to a deeper truth?

The answer didn't matter yet.

Strength did.

If the upcoming sect selection was his path forward, influence would be just as vital as power. An alchemist wasn't merely a cultivator—they were currency, a force that shaped those around them. Perhaps it was time to push his limits.

A glance toward Solar, curled by the window, confirmed it.

"What do you think, Solar?" he mused. "Should we step a little further into the storm?"

The creature blinked, slow and steady.

Decision made.

The waning moon bathed his makeshift alchemy station in a pale glow. The candle flickered, casting elongated shadows across the gathered spiritual herbs and powders. The night carried an unfamiliar tension—the weight of a village growing curious, more watchful—but De-Reece forced himself to focus.

Distraction meant failure.

Failure meant weakness.

The remnants of spiritual beast meat still hummed in his blood, reinforcing his tempered body. The meridians within him throbbed, craving growth. Five nodes open, but that wasn't enough.

Tonight, he would refine his craft further.

"Solar," De-Reece called softly.

The creature stretched, golden flecks of qi flickering along its fur before padding over. Holding up a faintly glowing herb, De-Reece met those violet eyes.

"Just a touch of your qi," he instructed.

Solar exhaled, a whisper of violet-gold mist curling around the herb, a delicate dance of power before fading. De-Reece wasted no time, grinding the enhanced herb into the mixture for the body tempering pills.

A gamble.

Foreign qi could destabilize the pill—but if balanced properly, the effects would be stronger.

Hours slipped by in a haze of grinding, mixing, infusing. The cauldron hissed, releasing wisps of potent steam. Each step demanded precision. Each mistake meant wasted effort.

When the final pill solidified, a slow exhale escaped him.

Ten healing pills.

Ten body tempering pills.

Each bore the delicate spiral of spiritual patterning, lined with the quiet hum of power. Solar's qi had left its mark—subtle, but undeniable.

The effort had not gone unrewarded.

Alchemy was cultivation. Each motion, each act of control, fed back into him—a cycle of creation and refinement. As he examined a body-tempering pill, a smirk tugged at his lips.

"We're getting there," he murmured.

Solar watched, unblinking.

De-Reece tossed a pill to the beast. "Here. Let's both grow stronger."

With a snap of its jaws, Solar caught the pill, swallowing it in one motion. A faint ripple of golden light flared across its fur before vanishing.

Satisfied, De-Reece crossed his legs, drawing in the lingering qi from the alchemical process. The energy settled within him—not enough to open a new meridian, but enough to reinforce what he already possessed.

An hour passed before exhaustion pulled at him.

The pills, secured in separate bottles, vanished beneath his mattress.

Morning came too soon.

Moving with purpose, De-Reece slipped through the village, cloaked in a simple brown robe, hood drawn low. At the market, his work was swift, deliberate—each sale completed in hushed tones, each bottle exchanged with a quick flick of bronze or silver.

Fifty bronze.

One silver.

No more than a whisper.

Yet, even in silence, he felt them.

The eyes.

Watching. Waiting.

The morning market thrummed with a quiet, growing intensity. Conversations wove through the air in hushed murmurs, glances flickering toward the unseen figure that had disrupted the village's fragile equilibrium.

"He's back again. Sold more pills."

"The spiritual-lined ones?"

"Yes—and they felt stronger this time. Not by much… but different."

Beneath the din of barter and chatter, tension coiled in the minds of those who listened too carefully. Among them stood Belar, the village's resident alchemist, lingering at the edge of a nearby stall. His calloused fingers traced the stem of a Firegrass sprig, though his attention lay elsewhere. Across the square, a shadow moved twice near the alley—one of Elder Faen's men, no doubt. The old alchemist had seen too many shifts in power to ignore this one.

De-Reece completed his last sale with efficiency, tucking away the silver and bronze coins before stepping back into the warren of alleyways. A whisper of Shadow Phantom Steps, and his form flickered—a brief distortion in the morning haze. By the time a villager glanced his way, the hooded seller had already melted into the maze of narrow paths.

By evening, the whispers had only grown louder.

"Stronger pills. Again. That can't be coincidence.""Who is he?""No one knows. But I saw Belar watching him today."

At his small room in the village's outskirts, De-Reece sat cross-legged, eyes scanning the single remaining pill in his palm. Solar curled beside him, the soft glow of residual Qi pulsing faintly beneath the beast's dark fur. The ripples were spreading.

"One more step," De-Reece murmurs. "We push further."

By morning, anticipation simmered beneath the surface of the village. De-Reece could feel it in the way conversations hushed when he passed, in the glances that trailed his movements just a heartbeat too long. The village hadn't uncovered the hooded alchemist's identity yet, but the scent of curiosity was thick in the air.

Routine remained his shield. Mornings at the forge—muscle-tempering work that strengthened both his body and the perception of an ordinary laborer. Afternoons on the training grounds—where the weight of a blade felt as natural as breath. And nights? Nights belonged to alchemy.

Each hammer strike at the forge resonated through him, embedding strength into weary limbs. Firelight flickered across his skin, sweat dripping onto searing-hot steel as he tempered more than just metal—he tempered himself. Every controlled breath, every precise movement, reinforced his Body Tempering Realm, his five opened meridians humming with a steady thrum of power.

But Kalia found him before the sun could set.

Perched at the edge of the clearing, arms crossed, she leaned against a tree, watching. The soft rustle of Solar weaving through coordination drills at De-Reece's side filled the silence between them.

"Didn't think you'd be much for training," she finally remarks, voice light yet edged with something keener.

De-Reece doesn't halt the drill. Solar moves in a seamless blur—striking and retreating, black fur shimmering faintly as it mirrors its master's fluid movements. "Survival demands it," he replies evenly.

Kalia's sharp gaze lingers too long on Solar. "Your beast… he's not ordinary."

A hint of amusement tugs at De-Reece's lips. "Neither is this world."

For a moment, nothing but the rhythmic patter of Solar's movements fills the air. Then Kalia steps forward, her tone shifting. "The village has been talking about that hooded alchemist again," she muses, watching him too carefully. "Selling stronger pills this time."

De-Reece meets her gaze, his expression unreadable. "I heard the rumors."

"Did you?" Kalia's voice sharpens. "Strange how someone so skilled would keep to the shadows. Makes people wonder what they're hiding."

The words land heavier than casual curiosity. A seed of suspicion, subtly planted.

De-Reece wipes the sweat from his brow, letting the silence stretch. "Maybe they're hiding because this village watches too closely."

The corner of Kalia's lips quirks—not quite a smile. "Or maybe they watch because there's something worth watching."

Solar lets out a quiet growl—not hostile, but a warning.

Kalia doesn't press further. Instead, she steps back, tilting her head slightly. "We're training later. Joran will be there too. You should join us."

De-Reece considers her for a long moment. "Why?"

She shrugs, turning away. "Curiosity."

Her words linger even after she disappears into the trees.

The quiet rise was no longer so quiet.

From his seat at the market square's edge, Belar listened.

The weight of murmurs, the fevered whisper of newfound ambition in young cultivators—it all traced back to one presence. The hooded alchemist. A rising force, unseen but undeniable. The storm on the horizon.

His gnarled fingers traced the rim of an empty clay cup in slow, deliberate motions—a habit long formed when thoughts ran deeper than he let on. Spiritual pills didn't just appear out of nowhere, not in a place like this. Someone with that level of alchemical finesse wasn't ordinary.

His gaze drifted.

Across the square stood De-Reece.

A reserved youth. Sharp-eyed. Moved with a predator's grace, even when still. Not arrogant—but too controlled. Too poised for someone supposedly scraping by.

Coincidence?

Belar didn't believe in such things.

Rising from his perch, he adjusted his robes and strode toward De-Reece with the casual gait of a man who had spent decades watching, waiting, and knowing when to push.

The younger man stood at a herb stall, fingers skimming across bundles of dried roots and Qi-rich plants. His movements were too precise. No hesitation, no searching for labels. A practiced eye.

Belar stopped beside him, plucking a sprig of Firegrass from the selection. Rolling it between calloused fingers, he tested its potency—a light press released a familiar wisp of heat. Freshly picked.

His voice rasped with quiet interest. "You have an eye for herbs."

De-Reece barely spared him a glance. "Seems so."

A non-answer. Cautious.

Belar allowed a knowing chuckle to escape. "Getting by doesn't teach a man to distinguish Firegrass from Bloodthorn at a glance."

For the first time, De-Reece hesitated. It was subtle—a fraction of a second, a near-imperceptible shift in the way his fingers brushed over the herbs.

Then—calm, measured—he replied. "Maybe I've been paying attention."

Or maybe you've been taught.

Belar let the silence linger. His fingers tightened ever so slightly around the sprig, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing into the space between them. This boy wasn't flustered. No nervous stammer, no flicker of guilt. That kind of poise came from practice.

Too much practice.

His lips barely curved into a smile. "Curiosity." The word lingered. "A man who knows herbs might know other things too. Like… alchemy."

Another pause.

Then De-Reece, as if entirely unbothered, set the herbs back onto the stall. Turning slightly, he met Belar's gaze—steady, unshaken. "Alchemy's a rare craft. Wouldn't expect to find much of it in a place like this."

Belar studied him, reading between the lines of what was spoken—and what wasn't.

Rare, yes. But not impossible.

The game was set.

With a slow nod, Belar stepped back. "If you ever want to… talk herbs, my door is open."

A quiet invitation.

De-Reece simply inclined his head. Said nothing.

As Belar walked away, his mind churned.

The hooded alchemist remained unknown.

But De-Reece?

He was a thread worth pulling.

And Belar fully intended to unravel him.